


Sound Barrier

by shaenie



Category: LOTR RPS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-31
Updated: 2003-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fuck, look at this mess."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound Barrier

**Author's Note:**

> Contre La Montre challenge, "Sound", time limit 45 minutes, brought home at 38 minutes.

The first time Elijah heard them together, he was shocked to the point of actual dizziness. It wasn't shock at them _together_ , though he hadn't considered the possibility before. That didn't actually surprise him much. No, it was the fact that it sounded more like fighting than fucking. It sounded more like it, but Elijah didn't mistake it for fighting, nevertheless.

 _Does it always sound like that between two guys?_ The thought heated his face and neck, and made his hands curl into fists.

There was a series of banging sounds, first against wood (cabinets probably) and then more muffled, maybe something thumping against the wall, followed and overlapped by softer grunting sounds. Then one of them exclaimed: "Fuck!" followed by the sound of something (glass) breaking, sharp and brittle in Elijah's ears. It jangled at his nerves, and he had to force himself not to rise to the balls of his feet as adrenelin surged through him.

 _Fight or flight_ , he thought randomly, and would have laughed, (because it was funny, wasn't it, that his fight or flight impulses had been riled up by the sound of two of his mates fucking?) except some sort of barrier had been erected in his throat, something that prevented sound from passing.

 _Sound barrier_ , he thought, but was immediately distracted from the skittery idea of it by words, filtered through the closed bathroom door. Words that were somehow quite distinct, not muffled as they should be, only the volume effected, not the clarity of the words themselves.

"Shut the hell up!"

He couldn't really tell which of them had said it. It didn't really sound like _either_ of them, it sounded like a new voice entirely, one that was rigid and harsh and … rude.

Then he wanted to laugh again, because: _rude?!_

No, rude was standing frozen like a photograph outside the bathroom door, captured, captive, _captivated_ by the _sound_ of it.

He didn't laugh, laughter couldn't escape. The sound barrier in his throat was still firmly intact.

There was a groan, a deep low sound. _Sounds painful_ , Elijah thought, ignoring the fact that something below the belt didn't think it sounded painful at all, or, perhaps, _liked_ the fact that it sounded painful. The groan was followed immediately by the sound of something hard striking the tub, and bouncing, the loud and hollow 'gong' of something hitting porcelain or fiberglass or whatever the damned thing was made of.

 _There goes the shampoo_ , Elijah thought, another laugh butting up against the inexplicable blockage in his throat. Even the thought of laughter died, however, after a snarling: "Fuck, yessss!" reached his ears through the door, _(This must be the thinnest fucking door in New Zealand, made out of paper or something, I wonder if they can hear me beating off in the shower, oh, what a lovely fucking thought that is!)_ and Elijah splayed both hands high up against opposite sides of the door frame to catch his balance (barely noticing that he was dragging one of his hands away from where it had been pressing at his groin), and stiffened his arms to hold his weight. He lowered his head, rested the blistering hot skin of his forehead against the cool wood of the door itself, and was surprised to discover he could not feel any kind of vibrations through the door. It felt like he should be able to. It felt like the whole house should be fucking vibrating, and not just Elijah's skin and eardrums.

The sound of his own breathing was too loud to ignore, and he wanted to quiet it, soften it somehow, because what if they heard him? But also because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to hear them over it, and that was just fucked up, right?

 _Jesus, get the hell out of here, just walk away, Wood, you fucking pervert_ , but Elijah couldn't, didn't even want to, no matter what his conscience was telling him. He wanted to hear, wanted to know what it sounded like when they finished.

"Quit fucking around and do it," one of them grated out, and the words were harsh and short and nasty, but the sound was urgent, needy, and breathless.

"Fuck you," the other responded, but that was followed by a short, jagged cry that shot heat and ache throughout Elijah's entire body, and made him wish he could see it, see what expression accompanied that cry, see their bodies bowed up, twined together, flushed and heated like Elijah felt flushed and heated. He didn't try to resist the desire that sent one of his palms back to his groin to press, press hard, and he was grateful for whatever was keeping sound from escaping from his throat, because there was a groan burning in his chest, or somewhere deeper than his chest, from the place low in his belly where heat lay coiled and writhing as his ears strained for every small sound.

"Oh Christ, oh fuck," was groaned almost reverently, and Elijah either faintly heard or imagined the sound of skin smacking against skin, "Wanna fuck you every fucking day, every fucking minute …"

Elijah ground the heel of his hand against his erection. It didn't seem possible that they were only words, just words, that they couldn't really touch him (except wasn't sound actually a physical thing, a wave or something, that bounced off your eardrums and was translated to your brain as sound? Hadn't he read that somewhere or something? Did that count as touching, because it _felt_ like touching, although not as much like touching as he wanted it to), but could still send the heat zinging through him like that, and if he closed his eyes, he could _almost_ see, almost …

"Do it … fuck! God! Just … just fucking …" All punctuated by brief, raw sounds, not quite cries, sounds that wanted to be cries, but were too strangled and gasping and effortful, sounds that were rough and weighty and molten with need.

 _… oh hell …_ Elijah thought faintly, pressing harder, pressing to the point of pain, hearing his own gasping, gulping inhalations, which sounded more distant than the sounds coming through the door, by some trick of acoustics or of his own mind.

"Fucking take it, fucking love it when you _take it_ …"

And again, even more faintly, _… oh hell …_ because the pain/pleasure of his palm against the ache in his groin was fragmenting, bursting into searing, liquid splinters, traveling to every semi-sensitive part of his body, and he was trembling, shuddering, tightening, and his pounding heart was loud in his ears, but he could still hear the harsh cry, when it was uttered, strangled and triumphant, on the other side of the door, which was followed by the low, tremulous groaning of the other immediately after.

The sounds rang in Elijah's ears like music with the reverb cranked up, and he came against his relentlessly pressing palm, came in his jeans without a cry or a groan, but with only the hissing exhalation of his breath through clenched teeth.

For the next few moments, the only sound was his own breathing, and Elijah felt sluggish and stupid and unable to move. Then one of them (he could know which one, the voice was more recognizable now that it wasn't warped with passion, but he deliberately shied away from recognition) said: "Fuck, look at this mess," and they laughed, mingled laughter, and the sound was so familiar, so fucking normal, that Elijah jerked back, away from the door, jerked back so hard that he thumped into the wall opposite the door and bit deeply into his bottom lip. He was burning now, burning with shame and guilt and humiliation instead of lust, and he bolted.

Their laughter seemed to pursue him.


End file.
